Without Further Ado
by Wild Magelet
Summary: Based On Much Ado About Nothing - Modern Setting. Ophelia hates Will. Will hates Ophelia. It'll take lovestruck friends, scheming prats, burnt broccoli and mystery meat for them to see the truth!
1. The Annual Hangover

Summary: Ophelia hates being named after a Shakespearean character – drat her obsessed parents! But not as much as she hates Will Carlyle. Or Annoying Sod, as he's better known. Will can't stand burnt broccoli. But he'd rather eat it than endure five minutes in the same company as Ophelia Jones. When their respective best friends start mooning over each other, and are determined to inflict their happy state of lovestruck-ness on their feuding companions, things get interesting...(I hope!)  
  
*****  
  
The morning sun beamed brightly through the crack in the curtains and skated over the floor, the desk and finally the lump in the bed. A loud thumping sound broke the heavy silence in the small room, and the door resounded with each blow of a determined fist.  
  
"Wakey-wakey, sunshine!" chirped an irritatingly chipper and high-pitched voice.  
  
"Still alive in there?" enquired another, trying and failing to hold back the vibrations of laughter.  
  
"Groan," said the lump in the bed.  
  
A hand fought its way through the layers of sheet and blankets, and slowly, cautiously, pulled the covers back. A tousled head appeared, two squinting eyes peering through wild strands of mahogany hair.  
  
"What?" snarled the head to the general vicinity of the door.  
  
Undaunted by this less than welcoming greeting, it swung open and two grinning faces peered around it.  
  
Ophelia Jones hauled herself to a sitting position, and immediately regretted doing so. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she willed the instant hit of nausea away and continued to glare at the intruders as they cheerfully clumped into the room. Each footstep drummed into Ophelia's skull and then proceeded to tap dance on her nerve endings.  
  
Her cousin Hannah folded her arms and leaned back against the wardrobe. Their mutual friend Jessica Montgomery quirked one eyebrow at her, and daintily sat with one ankle crossed over the other.  
  
Lowering her hand, Ophelia swallowed several times, just to make sure that she wasn't going to disgrace herself any further, peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth and then snapped, "Cut it out!"  
  
"Cut what out?" Hannah enquired innocently, exchanging wickedly amused glances with Jessica.  
  
Ophelia could have uttered some form of a scathing retort, but, as her mouth tasted somewhat similar to how she imagined a pair of Will Carlyle's athletic socks would, brushing her teeth suddenly seemed like the pressing priority.  
  
"So," Jessica said conversationally, "We ran into Mrs. McCorkindale in the hallway and she said to remind you that you offered to help show guests around the school for Open Day this morning."  
  
"As to which," Hannah chipped in, "I replied 'Ha!'"  
  
"- Derisively," Jessica said, nodding.  
  
"Yes, derisively. 'Mrs. McCorkindale' I said, 'Mrs. McCorkindale, you are doing my cousin a total misjustice! Ophelia? Forget that she had offered to be an usher? Ridiculous!' I said."  
  
"Exactly. Pah!" Ophelia gargled around a mouthful of toothpaste.  
  
"It's far more likely that's she's forgotten that it's Open Day at all," Hannah finished, eyeing her foaming friend expectantly.  
  
"Mrrnph!" Ophelia spluttered in indignation.  
  
"So you didn't forget?" Hannah inquired, disdainfully swiping a thread of toothpaste from her cheek.  
  
Ophelia spat, replaced her toothbrush in its holder and straightened.  
  
"No," she replied after a pause, left eye twitching – Ophelia's left eye always twitched when she was lying, her right when it was going to rain: both signs had proved exceedingly useful to her friends over the years.  
  
"No," she repeated more firmly, the left side of her face spasming out of control. She clapped a palm over it and continued, "But you'll have to tell her I can't do it. I have the flu."  
  
There was a brief silence, quickly replaced by an explosion of hooting laughter.  
  
"Yes?" she snapped frostily.  
  
Hannah cleared her throat noisily but, other than the occasional smothered snigger, remained silent. The quietest and most sensitive of the trio, she had always been tactful.  
  
Jessica, however, had not.  
  
"Well! Hannah! How insensitive are we? Our good friend here has the flu - "  
  
"I'm not entirely convinced that it isn't something more serious," Ophelia broke in dramatically, "Like malaria. Or scurvy. Or jaundice! Does my skin look yellow-ish to you?" She thrust an arm under Hannah's nose.  
  
"Yes," Hannah said without bothering to examine it. "But it's not my fault that you can't read labels. Of course, 'Sunless Tanning Cream' and 'Moisturiser' are easily confused."  
  
Jessica shook her head in mock self-loathing. "Our best friend in the whole world has potential malaria no less! And we didn't even notice. Of course, it would have been difficult for us to tell last night, what with the vodka bottle obscuring the view and all."  
  
Hannah, losing her reticence, giggled. "That's true. However, probably a bad sign when she started having that fit."  
  
"I think she was dancing, dear."  
  
"No kidding! Are you sure? I could have sworn that it was a seizure of some kind. Especially when she climbed onto that table. Dancing, you say?"  
  
"I suppose it was possible that she was trying to obtain medical help."  
  
Pursing her lips, Ophelia shook her head. "Tragic," she uttered in dignified tones.  
  
"Oh, no one's arguing with that," Jessica shot back, grinning.  
  
"I was mildly tipsy."  
  
"You pulled your skirt up around your waist and danced a jig."  
  
"I only had one drink to welcome in the new school year. Five at the most."  
  
"You hit Jeremy Holland in the head with peanuts."  
  
"So what? That sounds like something I would do when I'm sober."  
  
"You blew the peanuts out of your nose!"  
  
"It WAS attractive," Hannah added, "Particularly when you tried it with a mouthful of rum."  
  
Jessica picked up Ophelia's school skirt and tossed it at her face.  
  
"Have a shower and meet us in the west courtyard in ten minutes. There's hay in your hair, by the way. I won't even ask."  
  
"And if you promise not to drink again for the rest of the year," Hannah said, smirking in a manner that Ophelia found particularly offensive, "I promise to only show the photos of you flashing passing cars to half the amount of people that I was going to."  
  
She and Jessica stepped over Ophelia's party clothes strewn haphazardly over the floor and made their way out the door, ignoring their friend's indignant squawks.  
  
"By the way," Jessica said, popping her head back in, "Will arrived this morning."  
  
On that final parting shot, she disappeared with a flutter of fingers, laughing at the expression on Ophelia's face.  
  
*****  
  
Trying to walk without moving her head, opening her eyes or throwing up all over the clean vinyl floor was proving more difficult than anticipated. Ophelia cracked one eye open, made sure that she wasn't heading for any obstacles and gratefully eased it close again. Only to land squarely on her ass as a walking stone wall veered into her path.  
  
"Oof," she groaned, and looked up. Her gaze sparked to life with instant fury.  
  
"You!"  
  
The 'wall' looked surprised for a second, before the corners of his mouth quirked up in a sardonic grin.  
  
"Ah yes. What would the first day of school be without the Annual Hangover? Poor baby. Well, I've hope you've realised what the results can be when people have no self control," Will informed her sanctimoniously.  
  
Pompous git!  
  
"Oh, I have," Ophelia replied airily, "As, I'm sure, have your parents." She smiled innocently at him, inwardly congratulating herself on her own wit, and waited for a helpful arm to be extended. Surely even The Sod would have the basic manners to assist her to her feet. Especially when it was because of his overly-developed pecs that she was still plopped on her rear in the first place.  
  
Apparently not. He folded his arms across his chest, and glared down at her.  
  
"I see that The Mouth is as large as ever," he commented.  
  
"Merely trying to compete with your ego, Will, darling," she snapped, clambouring to her feet.  
  
Bitchy shrew! "Well I'd love to stay and chat," he said insincerely, "But I have to go and get the rest of my stuff from the car before it starts raining. Or are the facial spasms a permanent fixture now? Since I've never been that lucky, I'm sure I'll see you later."  
  
Ophelia stuck her tongue out at his broad, departing back. Ever since their one date way back when they'd been fifteen – of which she remembered little: she'd blanked it from her memory with the other Great Traumatic Events of her life – she and William Carlyle had been firm enemies. One more year at Harrigon, a co-ed boarding school firmly ensconced in the country, and he would officially be out of her hair forever. Theoretically. She wouldn't actually be at all surprised if he turned up and wrecked her wedding or the birth of her first child or something at some later date. Life seemed to have a habit of taking the piss like that.  
  
Ten months. She could make it. Maybe.  
  
It wasn't that she hated school – far from it. Oh, she wasn't wild about Chemistry and, quite frankly, she'd rather blow watermelons out of her nose than attempt long division, but Harrigon was a great school with only two major flaws. One – the worst one – was the arrogant prick currently swaggering out of sight. The other was the English Department's penchant for teaching Shakespeare. Ophelia did not like Shakespeare. She had never liked Shakespeare. And her given name was the major source of tension between herself and her parents.  
  
Robert and Amanda Jones adored everything to do with the sixteenth-century bard. They were both actors. They wrote textbooks on the plays. They had named their dog Oberon. And their daughter, Ophelia. Mostly because her mother had continued to play that very role in a community theatre production of Hamlet while in labour, refusing to push until after she'd drowned herself. Both of her parents took great delight in recounting the story of Ophelia's birth to any unsuspecting person who lingered in their presence for more than thirty seconds, whether they had asked to hear it or not. Hence, Ophelia's entry into boarding school at an early age.  
  
Hearing raucous laughter and loud voices, Ophelia rubbed her aching head and peered out the window into the east courtyard.  
  
William Carlyle, Jack Harrington and Robert Brent were clapping each other on the back and, clearly in some bizarre male bonding routine, smacking each other round the head.  
  
Ophelia jerked back as Will instinctively glanced up at the window where she stood, but not before she saw his mocking grin and his lips move in what was almost definitely an insulting and/or lewd comment.  
  
Shit. It was going to be a long ten months. 


	2. Spitting The Purple Pen

"It's true," Ophelia argued, poking through her pencil case. "Where the heck is my purple pen?"  
  
Jessica glanced over at her, and raised an eyebrow. "In your pony-tail. And it is not. It's not as if you're biased or anything is it?"  
  
They were all flopped in various sprawling poses around Hannah's room, writing in their journals – the latest brilliant idea of their English teacher, Mrs. Havers. Jessica and Hannah had groaned in simultaneous displeasure at the new assignment.  
  
To Hannah, it was yet another thing to take time away from choir and orchestra practice. She adored everything about music, and Ophelia had always been amused by the fact that her quiet, rather conservative cousin regularly gave an extremely wild electric guitar performance in a rock band.  
  
As far as Jessica was concerned, it was simply further evidence of Mrs. Havers' terminal affliction of nosiness. Having once been forced to call on the teacher in her rooms, she still adamantly maintained that the woman had drilled peep holes into each of her walls. Clearly, she had told her friends with an air of wounded dignity on behalf of this vile spy's closest neighbours, it was to assist her observations of the private movements of poor Miss Beacon and Mr. Llewellyn, the languages tutor and sports coach respectively.  
  
When asked by a skeptical Ophelia as to why on earth anyone would WANT to observe the private movements of said teachers, Jessica had merely replied, in suitably ominous tones, that Mrs. Havers no doubt had her own twisted reasons.  
  
Upon hearing this, Ophelia had inquired, in sweetly dulcet tones, whether Jessica thought that perhaps the twelve detentions handed out to her by The Spy in as many weeks were really a clever ploy to observe her private movements also.  
  
At which point she had found herself hit squarely between the eyes with a flying dictionary.  
  
Reaching up to sheepishly remove the desired pen, Ophelia uncapped it, opened her journal and proceeded to suck thoughtfully on the nib.  
  
"No, really, it's true," she insisted, turning to nod assuredly at her friends. "I'm telling you, if you look really, really closely, turn your head to the right, squint a bit and then shut your left eye, Will Carlyle looks EXACTLY like the hamster in the science laboratory."  
  
Jessica snorted and rolled onto her stomach.  
  
"Last week you said that he looked like the mystery meat they were serving for dinner." "NOTHING looks as bad as the mystery meat, but trust me Will is a close second."  
  
"I don't know," Jessica said in a sing-song voice, looking slyly over at Ophelia, "I think he's actually rather yummy. You have purple ink on your lip, by the way."  
  
Three pairs of eyes followed the progress of the purple pen as it was spat clear across the room.  
  
"Gross," Hannah commented, picking it up gingerly and tossing it back.  
  
"My thoughts exactly!" Ophelia snapped, rubbing viciously at her stained lip. "Jessica! That's disgusting."  
  
Jessica giggled. "No, it's not. Everyone but you thinks that he's good- looking. And he's really pretty funny too."  
  
Ophelia glared at her.  
  
"He may be a joke, but he's not funny! Sarcastic mean comments at other people's expense - "  
  
"Your expense," Hannah broke in softly.  
  
"Yes, my expense!" Ophelia said vigorously, "Cruel little jibes are not clever! They're just Will being his usual arrogant pricky self!"  
  
"Well, you must have thought that he was a bit all right at one time," Jessica pointed out, sailing obliviously into fatal territory, "Or you wouldn't have gone out with him."  
  
There was a heavy silence.  
  
Ophelia slammed her lips together into a thin line, and hunched over her journal. She pointedly turned her back and ignored Jessica, who sighed.  
  
"I'm sorry, Fee," she said sincerely, all teasing tones gone from her voice now, "I am. I know you don't like talking about that."  
  
She peered around, trying to see her friend's face. However amusing or irritating the constant battle of wits between Ophelia and Will could be, there was an undeniable undercurrent of real hurt and anger between the two, and it was that which prevented Jessica from continuing to torment her cross companion.  
  
"I don't think that Will looks like the hamster," Jessica began, her voice both determined and overly cheerful, "But I've gotta say, I've always thought that there was something rather...equine...about his face."  
  
"Oh totally," Hannah piped up, chipping in. "He looks just like a horse. The similarities are astounding. Can't think why I haven't noticed it before."  
  
"The rear end of a horse," Jessica announced.  
  
Ophelia's face was still averted, and she remained silent.  
  
"Or maybe more like a donkey," Hannah suggested.  
  
"A complete ass!" they chorused together, as perfectly as if they'd practiced it.  
  
The silence continued for a brief moment, and then muffled snickers emerged from behind Ophelia's raised arms. She lifted her head, and gave them a watery smile.  
  
"He is an ass," she agreed.  
  
Jessica wrapped her up in a tight hug.  
  
"I really am sorry," she said, biting her lip.  
  
Ophelia shrugged. "It's ok. I shouldn't let him get to me anyway. It was a long time ago."  
  
"What, so are you going to be nice to him now?" Hannah asked in surprise.  
  
"I didn't say that," Ophelia retorted, "I said I shouldn't let him get to me. I have no problem messing with HIM."  
  
Her friends rolled their eyes.  
  
Jessica sighed. "Speaking of guys...and preferably non-pricky ones, the masquerade ball is next week. Dates or just go in a group?"  
  
"Hmm," Ophelia mused, "I don't know. I think most people are just going in groups, so it might be more fun to just do that. Then we could dance with whoever we want, instead of having someone trail around after us all night. And we wouldn't need to pull our date out of the fountain."  
  
"Or have them throw up on our new dress," Hannah sighed.  
  
"Or find them in the coat room, snogging the new Home Ec tutor," Jessica added.  
  
There was a thoughtful pause.  
  
"Wow, last year's dance really sucked, huh?" Ophelia said, glumly reminiscing.  
  
"Yep," agreed her equally dismal companions.  
  
"There's no one that I really want to ask anyway," Jessica said more chirpily, "So going in a group works for me."  
  
"What!" Ophelia gasped, clutching her chest theatrically, "Jessica Montgomery doesn't have a crush on someone? It's like an alternate universe."  
  
Jessica threw a pillow at her.  
  
"Hey!" Hannah said, laughing, "Watch out for my favourite pillow, thank you! That's the only one that's nice and lumpy."  
  
"There's no one that you want to invite, is there Hannah?" Ophelia asked almost carelessly, still laughing herself.  
  
The silence that followed the question was heavy.  
  
Mouths dropping open, Jessica and Ophelia swung around to stare in amazement at a furiously blushing Hannah.  
  
They immediately scooted over to her and shoved their faces in hers.  
  
She rolled her eyes and leaned back to put a few millimeters of breathing space between them.  
  
"Who is he?" Ophelia demanded, delighted.  
  
"Tell!" Jessica exclaimed at the same time.  
  
While Hannah was the object of many a Harrigon boy's unrequited devotion, she herself hadn't, to their knowledge, expressed interest in anyone since her crush on MacGyver at the age of four.  
  
"It's no one!" she said defensively, avoiding their gazes. Hannah didn't need to give twitching alerts to the fact that she was lying. She was terrible at it all on her own.  
  
"Who is it?" Ophelia and Jessica repeated, not giving an inch.  
  
Hannah folded her arms, and stared stubbornly at the floor.  
  
"It's not a teacher is it?" Ophelia suddenly thought to ask.  
  
"No!" Hannah snapped, looking a little disgruntled.  
  
"Oh my God! Is it Will?" Ophelia shrieked, not wanting to question why the thought bothered her so much – other than the fact that the irritating sod wasn't nearly good enough for her cousin, of course.  
  
Hannah's eyes rolled almost to the ceiling.  
  
"No, Ophelia, it's not Will," she retorted, "We don't all have a Will fixation."  
  
Ophelia thought about taking offense and reverting to the sulks, but decided that she was too interested in finding out which manly paragon at Harrigon had managed to catch her cousin's usually averted eye. She settled for poking her tongue out at Hannah instead.  
  
"So it isn't a teacher, it isn't Will," Jessica said thoughtfully, eyeing Ophelia with amused tolerance, "I'm assuming that it is a guy?"  
  
"IF I was interested in someone," Hannah said cagily, "And I'm only speaking hypothetically, of course..."  
  
"Of course," her friends chimed in, grinning.  
  
"Then it is a guy, yes." She gazed fixatedly at her hands.  
  
"Hannah, tell us," pleaded Jessica, "We're your best friends, we won't laugh."  
  
"Actually we can't promise anything," Ophelia said, mentally running through a catalogue of the male specimens that their school had to offer. "But tell us anyway."  
  
"Well," Hannah said reluctantly, "I've liked him for a long time..."  
  
"Really?" Ophelia interrupted, "Why didn't we know that?"  
  
"Shhh!" Jessica snapped, "I want to hear!"  
  
She slapped Ophelia on the arm. Ophelia slapped her back, and a small war commenced.  
  
"Ahem!" Hannah said crossly.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Please. Continue."  
  
"I'm sort of...well...in...you know...love with him, I guess," Hannah mumbled, then rushed over her friends' shocked and thrilled exclamations, "But he doesn't like me back. I don't think." "Who is this thick twerp?" Ophelia demanded crossly, still reeling from Hannah's admission.  
  
"It's Rmrbhrlt Bmropt," Hannah finally admitted, looking torn between relief at revealing her feelings at last – at least to her friends – and depression.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Sorry?" Ophelia asked blinking. "It's WHO?"  
  
Hannah took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "It's Robert Brent."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Who?" Jessica asked in shock.  
  
"Rob-!" Hannah was beginning to sound impatient.  
  
"No, we heard you," Ophelia cut in, dazed.  
  
"Robert Brent," Jessica repeated.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Will's friend?" Ophelia clarified.  
  
Simultaneous eye-rolling.  
  
"YES."  
  
Hannah looked at the floor. Jessica looked at Ophelia. Ophelia looked at Jessica.  
  
"What can we do to help?" they asked in unison. 


	3. Brotherly Love

Diary of Will Carlyle  
  
Played some basketball. Lost. Was against girls' team. Let them win, of course. Am v. gentlemanly. Saw Ophelia in the hall during sixth period. Pretty sure she was flirting with that loser, Jock. Poor guy. Snotty little cow. I hate this assignment.  
  
"This assignment sucks," snapped Will mulishly, throwing his diary down on Jack's floor.  
  
Robert looked up from his perch on the bed. "Yeah, like we have nothing better to do, right?"  
  
Jack rubbed his nose, and closed his own journal. "I'm pretty sure that it's just Mrs. Havers being nosy anyway. I swear, when I was in her room, I saw drilled peepholes in the walls."  
  
Robert grinned lasciviously. "And what were you doing in her room, Harrington?"  
  
Jack rolled his eyes. "The duties of a Head Boy are never ending. Not that you'd know about that, you slacker. It was debriefing after the student council meeting."  
  
Robert snorted with laughter. "Dude. Debriefing Havers, huh?"  
  
Jack threw his diary at him.  
  
Robert sighed and flopped back on the covers, still smirking slightly. "Anyway, enough about the English teacher's briefs. Who're you guys taking to the dance?"  
  
Will groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. "Not that bloody dance again. Last year I found my date snogging Jock Petersen in the cloak room. Speaking of that prick, you'll never guess who was flirting with him today."  
  
Ignoring Will, Jack stretched and frowned. "I've heard that most people are just going stag this year. Sounds good to me. I really can't be bothered with the whole hassle. I mean, honestly. You try and have a reasonable conversation with the girls, and they just stand there and bloody giggle."  
  
Will paused in his fuming about Ophelia's wanton seduction of Jock in the hallway – not that he cared, of course. He just didn't think behaviour like that was – er – appropriate – that's right! It wasn't appropriate in the school hallways. Where anyone would have to see it. And then have to go to basketball practice with feelings of acute nausea.  
  
"No dates? Suits me," he shrugged. And if all of the other guys, including the Scottish Gigolo, were going alone too, so much the better.  
  
"So we'll just go in a group then, alright, Robert?" Jack said, looking over at their friend.  
  
"Well. Uh," Robert stuttered, looking slightly apprehensive.  
  
Will forgot his Ophelia-induced irritation – she really was such a little snot though – for a moment, and looked over at Robert in surprise. He looked nervous. The last time Will had seen Robert nervous was their first day of nursery school. And only because it was two seconds after Will announced he was scared and was going to be sick.  
  
Jack also looked taken aback, but he was smiling. "And who have you got your eye on, Don Juan?"  
  
Robert shrugged, and tried to look nonchalant. "It's no big deal. There's just this girl. I think she's really pretty – uh – hot. Yeah, I think she's hot. That's all."  
  
"Who?" asked Will curiously.  
  
Robert was notoriously picky when it came to it came to dates. Unlike Ophelia Jones, who apparently went for anyone with an accent. Wench.  
  
Robert shrugged again. "It doesn't matter. I probably won't ask her. I don't think she likes me. I couldn't ask her."  
  
"Why not?" Jack asked, frowning. "What's the big deal?"  
  
"She might say no," Robert said, enunciating the syllables clearly, as if he thought Jack was a little dim.  
  
"So, she says no. Then you ask someone else."  
  
Both Jack and Will were intrigued when Robert immediately looked horrified.  
  
"But I don't want to go with anyone else! I lo-" he broke off quickly.  
  
His friends choked.  
  
"You what?" Will asked, his eyebrows just about leaping off his face. "You – love her?"  
  
"You're in love with someone?" Jack exclaimed. "Dude! That's – that's - "  
  
"That's ridiculous!" Will exclaimed. "What do you want to be in love for, for God's sake? You're only eighteen. You're in the prime of life. Embrace your freedom. Play the field. In love. Jeez."  
  
"Shut up, Will. That's great, Robert," Jack finished, "It's great. Who is she?"  
  
Robert looked at them, clearly debating whether or not to say anything. Finally he sighed in resignation.  
  
"It's Mmrnph Jones," he muttered quietly.  
  
Will's mouth dropped open.  
  
"Ophelia Jones?!" he roared, "You're in love with Ophelia? You can't be bloody in love with Ophelia!"  
  
Robert glared at him.  
  
"I'm NOT in love with Ophelia. I'm in love with Hannah Jones."  
  
As he realised what he'd said, out loud, clearly and with pride, Robert blushed and fell silent again.  
  
There was a brief pause.  
  
Jack nodded slowly.  
  
"I can see it. She's nice. I like her. Pretty too."  
  
"She's more than pretty!" said Robert defensively, "I – I think she's beautiful. She's an angel. Way prettier than anyone else in this school. And she's polite and sweet and – and perfect. I think she's perfect. And there's no way I can ask her out."  
  
"Of course you can," Jack encouraged, still reeling from the knowledge that his friend was obviously head over heels.  
  
"How the mighty have fallen," Will said, rather bitterly. "I can't believe that you actually think that you're in love. And with Hannah Jones. I mean, yeah, she's ok, I suppose. But no different than any other girl. She's not even as pretty as her cousin. But I guess she's alright. Kind of short. And she doesn't say much. How can you think you're in love! What is with everyone wanting to chain themselves to the relentless bottomless pit of – coupledom!"  
  
His increasingly loud diatribe finished in tones of loathing.  
  
Jack and Robert blinked.  
  
"Anyway," Jack said finally, "Ignore Will. He's just caught up in his cloud of lust for Ophelia."  
  
"I AM NOT LUSTING AFTER OPHELIA JONES! SHE'S – SHE'S MEAN. SHE'S A NASTY LITTLE BITCH. ALL WOMEN ARE COWS. MORE TROUBLE THAN THEY'RE WORTH. AND OPHELIA IS THE WORST OF THEM. SHE'S - "  
  
They tuned him out.  
  
"So are you going to ask her?" Jack asked encouragingly.  
  
Robert paused, and then shook his head despairingly.  
  
"I can't. I don't even know if she knows who I am!"  
  
"She knows who you are, Robert."  
  
"AND SHE FLIRTS IN PUBLIC CORRIDORS WITH OTHER MEN. I MEAN, REALLY - "  
  
"I can't! I can't believe I've turned into such a WIMP, but I can't. I just can't. What am I going to do?"  
  
Jack thought for a moment.  
  
"Well. I could ask her to dance at the ball, and then ask her out on your behalf."  
  
"Isn't that a little – ten-years-old?"  
  
"More like nine, yes, but I doubt that she would mind. She might even prefer the less full-on approach. She seems pretty shy."  
  
"Not shy. Just – y'know, still waters and all. God, she's beautiful."  
  
Jack folded his arms across his chest and watch in bemusement and slightly jealous amusement as both of his friends whined on – although in very different tones – about the Jones women.  
  
"So," he interrupted, breaking through Robert's lovesick monologue. "Do you want me to talk to her at the ball?"  
  
Robert looked doubtful and opened his mouth to refuse. Then he closed it. He sighed.  
  
"You wouldn't mind?"  
  
"Of course not. You're my mate. And you know how I love messing in other people's lives," Jack grinned.  
  
"Yeah. You should have your own talk-show, you know. 'Welcome to Jack! Today's topic: men who are hopelessly in love with the cousin of the object of their best friend's obsessive lust!'" Robert laughed.  
  
"I am not obsessed with her! I hate her! I really, really hate her! I hate her even more than – than – burnt broccoli! And you KNOW how much I hate burnt broccoli."  
  
Jack and Robert exchanged glances and barely stifled groans as Will launched into a new line of attack on Ophelia, girls in general and the evils of serious, committed relationships. They wondered how long it would take him to notice if they snuck out and went to the cafeteria. It took him five minutes.  
  
*****  
  
Jessica leaned over and nudged Ophelia, interrupting her conversation with Hannah.  
  
"Hey guys! Look."  
  
"What?" they asked simultaneously, trying to follow the direction of her gaze.  
  
Jessica abandoned subtlety and pointed.  
  
"Peter Harrington's back."  
  
It was all that needed to be said. Peter Harrington was the half-brother of Jack – the son of Jack's father and the girlfriend he'd had a brief fling with after his wife's death. Peter had been expelled from the school the year before, after a mysterious series of events that nobody but Jack, Will and Robert knew much about. And they weren't talking. All that was known was that Peter had majorly stabbed his brother in the back. Their relationship had always been strained. It was obvious that Peter was jealous and resentful of his popular sibling.  
  
Ophelia, Hannah and Jessica gazed silently as Peter, holding his luggage, followed two of the teachers as they walked towards the office. His eyes briefly met theirs and he smirked unpleasantly, before his gaze skated across to the other trio watching him.  
  
Jack, Will and Robert stood, their faces impassive, as they observed Peter's return – an event that was attracting no little attention. It seemed as if at least half of the school was staring and wondering and murmuring. And all of those people saw the hatred that came over Peter's face when he saw his brother. And all of those people had the same thought.  
  
Jessica voiced it.  
  
"Uh oh." 


	4. Manipulations

A/N: Thank you heaps to Silent:Poet and Trixie (Uberkaiserin) for your reviews. I really appreciate them. I'm not that happy with this chapter, but I'll try and do better on the next one. :)  
  
Disclaimer: I think I forgot this before. Oops. Anyway, the plot is taken from "Much Ado About Nothing", and the characters are different but based on Shakespeare's - not that anyone could outdo Beatrice and Benedick!  
  
*****  
  
Ophelia rested her chin on her hand, and transferred her gaze to the back of Peter Harrington's head. Narrowing her eyes, she watched him suspiciously. At least she hoped it was a suspicious look. Last time she'd tried it out on Jessica, she'd been asked if she was planning to sneeze.  
  
She risked a glance at the clock, and stifled a groan. Exactly thirty seconds had passed since the last time she'd checked. There might possibly be something more boring in the world than silent study, but right at this moment, she couldn't imagine what. Technically, Ophelia pondered, flicking aimlessly through her biology homework, she could use this time to actually STUDY, but not only did that go against her personal morals, she could miss Peter's Evil Deed.  
  
Not that he'd actually done anything yet to suggest that he was, in fact, plotting an Evil Deed, but Ophelia was convinced that he must be. There just didn't seem to be any point in having a confirmed Bad Boy return dramatically and vengefully, if he was just going to sit there and calmly do his...math assignment, by the looks of it. She huffed out an impatient breath, and ignored the quizzical looks sent her way by her more studious classmates. Didn't he KNOW that it was practically his duty to do something horribly villainous and vile? If this was a movie, or a play, or something, he would have carried out at least the first stage of his plan by now. And unless the first stage of his plan involved spending vast amounts of time catching up on missed work and eating quite staggering quantities of food in the cafeteria, she had a - if she was honest - slightly disappointing suspicion that he wasn't planning to do anything interesting at all.  
  
Not that she wanted him to do something bad to Jack. She liked Jack. Other than his revolting taste in friends, she liked Jack a lot. They'd hit it off in their first years of school, often being paired together in class, and until she'd discovered what an immense fool his constant companion was, they'd hung out a lot.  
  
But she had to admit that the week since Peter's arrival had been something of an anti-climax. There'd been an apprehensive buzz around the school for the first few days, and everyone had been waiting for a confrontation. The day before, it had seemed that they were going to get one when Peter had approached Jack in the common room.  
  
Peter had immediately taken up with his old crony, Ralph "Mouse" Phillips, on the day that he'd come back – much to Ophelia's private satisfaction: what would a villain be without a less intelligent sidekick?  
  
Shamefully, Ophelia had actually forgotten that Mouse existed since Peter's expulsion. The diminutive boy seemed to thrive off others' energy, and she didn't think he'd ever had an original thought in his life. She'd said hi to him once in their second year, and had eventually walked away in despair when he'd just stood there, looking at her in a vaguely puzzled manner. His extremely introverted, retiring personality could have been the reason for the nickname that had accompanied him to school.  
  
It also, however, could be the fact that his little beady black eyes peered over a sharply pointed nose and chin, his ears appeared to be making a valiant attempt to escape to the top of his head and his front teeth were visible even when his mouth was closed. Jessica had once rather unkindly pointed out that he probably wasn't allowed to take biology in case he accidentally ended up on a dissecting board.  
  
Five minutes after Peter's suitcases were back in his wardrobe Mouse was hanging onto the back of his shirt. Literally.  
  
Mouse had tagged along on whatever horrible thing Peter had done to Jack last time. She wasn't sure how involved he'd been, but, while Peter alone spelled trouble anyway, Peter and Mouse together was usually an indicator that something was going to happen sooner or later. And it probably wouldn't be pretty.  
  
Therefore, Ophelia had immediately jumped to the conclusion, as she'd watched with wide eyes as Peter advanced on his brother, that his purpose in getting within five feet of Jack went something along the lines of massive blood spilling and broken bones. She wasn't sure who was more shocked when Peter had extended a passive hand – presumably to be shaken – her, Jack or Will: the latter's eyes had just about leapt off his face.  
  
After a few tense seconds of immobility and silence, the ever gracious Jack had slowly grasped his sibling's hand. And so, following this scene of filial reconciliation, word had quickly spread through Harrigon that all was sunshine and flowers between the Harrington brothers.  
  
It seemed that the two people least convinced by this heartwarming familial scene were Ophelia and Will. Will had been stonily keeping a close watch on Peter's movements ever since, and, after a few moments of confusion, Ophelia had immediately – and with typical melodramatic flair – decided that this was part of a wider dastardly plot.  
  
And it seemed that Peter was determined to prove her wrong. So far, the vilest act he'd committed was actually eating some of the mystery meat in the cafeteria. Otherwise he'd been sitting there chewing the sole of his shoe; it was impossible to tell which. She decided that this was definite evidence of a diseased mind anyway.  
  
She'd tried to follow him discreetly, determined to catch him doing something immoral, suspicious, or at least embarrassing. However, after she'd tripped over a first year, screeched aloud when she found chewed gum on the heels of her new shoes and accidentally walked into his back when he'd stopped without warning – totally inconsiderate – she was pretty sure that he was onto her. She was also pretty sure that he thought she had a crush on him. He'd given her a few sly, lecherous winks since. Hurl.  
  
All of this non-activity was leading towards two worrying conclusions: either Peter was biding his time before he did something really, heinously awful; or he was a changed man.  
  
Maybe she ought to just forget about him for awhile, and concentrate on other irritating matters. Like her bio homework. Or, far more perplexingly, the fact that Will kept LOOKING at her. She was almost certain that he was writing something – probably something pricky – about her in his diary. What a dork. It was probably supposed to intrigue her. Please. She wondered if she could somehow walk casually past and try to snatch a peek over his shoulder...  
  
*****  
  
"He's just so fucking smug!" Peter snapped, hissing cigarette smoke through his front teeth.  
  
Mouse jumped nervously out of the way as his friend flicked ash in a distinctly peeved manner.  
  
"Who?" he asked.  
  
"Who do you think? My darling brother, of course."  
  
Mouse paused, confused. "But...aren't we friends with him now?" he asked plaintively.  
  
Peter spun slowly around to look at him.  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Well...I mean...you...sh-sh-shook his hand and everything. Doesn't that usually m-m-mean that..." Mouse's stammering voice trailed off, and he flinched instinctively. Usually when Peter looked like that, Mouse got smacked around the head.  
  
This time was no exception.  
  
"That was just to make them THINK that I've decided to fall under Jack's thumb like the rest of these drones," Peter said impatiently, dusting off his hand, "Lulling them into a false sense of security? A smokescreen? A charade? Honestly."  
  
"Oh," said Mouse dubiously.  
  
Then: "Cunning," he said, sounding as if he wasn't sure whether it was or not.  
  
"Yes," agreed Peter.  
  
"I don't think it worked," Mouse said, with flat innocence.  
  
Peter paused.  
  
"No. Well, I expected that they'd still be suspicious. But it'll just mess with their minds more, wondering when I'm going to strike."  
  
Mouse nodded with such convincing comprehension that it was clear he didn't have a clue what was going on. Peter sighed. Oh well. It was probably better if your friends' brains were about a fifth the size of yours. Made it clear who was in charge. Poor Mouse. So easily manipulated.  
  
"Can you believe those wankers actually made him Head Boy of this shitty school?" Peter mused bitingly, sneering.  
  
"Er," said Mouse, pausing to consider what to say in reply. Stumped, he gave up and just shrugged instead.  
  
Looking at him impatiently, Peter stamped the butt into the ground, and kicked viciously at a stone.  
  
They were leaning – Peter with a lazy grace, Mouse with almost painful awkwardness – against the back wall of one of the bicycle sheds in the parking lot. It was completely deserted – no one had ridden a bike at Harrigon since sometime in the early years of the previous century.  
  
"Same old Jack. The perfect firstborn son," Peter said flatly, before perking up slightly. "Doesn't have a girlfriend though. Not that I'm surprised. Even the little slags at this school shouldn't have to look at that naked," he snickered.  
  
"You don't have a girlfriend either," Mouse piped up, with blind enthusiasm.  
  
The pathetic excuse for a smile on Peter's face disappeared completely, and he directed a look at his oblivious companion that could cut diamonds.  
  
"Yes, but that's by choice, you moron," he spat, "If I WANTED one of them, I could take my pick. Some of them might be acceptable for a casual shag anyway. That hot girl with the curly hair and the freaking weird name has been following me around for days. Desdemona, or something."  
  
"You couldn't have anyone you wanted," Mouse said blithely, not elaborating on this dangerous comment.  
  
Pause.  
  
"What is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Mouse shrugged.  
  
"Well, when you asked me to spy on people for you - "  
  
"It was necessary observations, not spying," Peter cut in harshly, "Good thing you're such a forgettable little squirt too. No one even notices you. I can't go a step without the rabble in this hole gawping. That ass-kissing twerp Brent and fucking Carlyle have been keeping tabs on me since I arrived."  
  
"Yeah, them!"  
  
"What about them?"  
  
"I heard Robert Brent talking to Jack. He said he's in love with that quiet girl. The one who's in a band. Hannah. She's nice. She let me sit with her for lunch once. She..."  
  
"Would you shut the fuck up about lunch? So, Brent's in love with the band chick. Ya – freaking – hoo. And?"  
  
"And Robert's too nervous to ask her out - "  
  
Peter interrupted again with a derisive snort. "Figures."  
  
"So Jack's going to ask her to dance at the ball tonight, and then ask her out for Robert. And when I was spying – uh – OBSERVING them, I also overheard Hannah talking to that girl, Jessica. And she loves him too. So, you see, she wouldn't want to go out with you then. And you couldn't have anyone you wanted," Mouse finished logically.  
  
"Really." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
"Yup," Mouse nodded his head so vigorously that his small eyes crossed.  
  
"Interesting."  
  
"Yup...Is it?"  
  
"Sounds like the perfect place to make some mildly evil mischief," Peter said, smiling unpleasantly. "It'll lessen the boredom of this cesspool mildly anyway."  
  
"Are you sure you should do anything, Peter?" Mouse worried, his hands fluttering fussily, "I mean, honest, the mean guy hardly ever wins, and these things always go wrong, and you'll probably just get into a lot of trouble, and no one will care, really, because no one actually likes you that much, and..."  
  
Peter hadn't been listening. He was too busy looking bitter and malevolent.  
  
"A masked ball," he muttered. "How...quaint."  
  
He then proceeded to laugh in a distinctly unsettling way, until Mouse backed nervously into him, and made him choke.  
  
*****  
  
"Do my hips look big in these pants?"  
  
Brief silence.  
  
Barely muffled snorts.  
  
"Gee, I don't know, Robert, but do you think this shade of lipstick looks good on me? Or does it make my toes look fat?" Jack asked, in a high falsetto voice.  
  
Will snickered.  
  
Robert turned from his firmly planted position by the mirror, and glared.  
  
"Shut up! I'm bloody nervous here!"  
  
"Nervous. But still a GUY, Robert," Will pointed out, eyebrows raised. He shook his head. This was what happened to guys in love. They turned into twittering girls. Oh, the shame of it. What happened to the age-old dignities of confirmed bachelorhood? Robert was physically twitching with apprehension about this evening. Meanwhile, Will thought with smug breeziness, HE could look forward to a night of high-flying singledom. He only hoped the girls didn't get hurt when they threw themselves at him. Riots could be so dangerous.  
  
And Ophelia could jump as many Celtic swains as she liked. He didn't care. Not one measly little bit.  
  
"Right," Will announced, briskly snapping his black mask down over his face, "Ready to go get rejected?"  
  
Robert visibly paled, and Jack gave Will a hard shove.  
  
"Will!"  
  
Will sniffed, and picked himself off the floor in as dignified a manner as possible.  
  
"Fine," he said in a monotone voice, "Ready to go fall into domestic happily ever after with the girl of your dreams?"  
  
Robert beamed.  
  
Jack tried not to look amused.  
  
Will tried not to gag.  
  
*****  
  
"So, we're agreed then. You're going to ask Robert to dance tonight."  
  
Ophelia finished lining her lips in a shade of deep mauve, and tossed the lipstick aside with a flourish. She turned away from her mirror to look at her cousin.  
  
"You're not going to faint, are you?" Jessica asked in alarm. Rifling amongst the scattered items of clothing, makeup and perfume on Ophelia's bed, she found a package of poppy seed crackers (one of Ophelia's many food- related addictions) and shoved them at Hannah. "Here! Eat!"  
  
The dead-white girl waved them away and pressed a hand to her stomach.  
  
"No thanks. I couldn't eat a thing. I feel sick. I'm so scared!" she finished in a wail.  
  
"Hannah," Ophelia said patiently, plopping into a chair and meeting her cousin's gaze. "He's not going to say no. Ok? It's not like you're asking him to shag you on the buffet table, for goodness sake! And I'm pretty sure that even if you asked him to do that, he wouldn't say no!"  
  
"Ophelia!"  
  
"Well, he wouldn't!"  
  
"You just ask him to dance," Jessica said calmly, "And then you dance with him, try not to break any of his toes - "  
  
Strangled moan from Hannah.  
  
"Which you wouldn't anyway, because you're so darn graceful, it's enough to make a person want to be sick! And that's it. One little baby step. And then you'll come to us, the wallflowers in the corner - "  
  
Outraged squawk from Ophelia.  
  
"And you'll tell us all about it, and then we'll devise the next step of our cunning plan to make Robert Brent the future Mr. Hannah Jones."  
  
"I'm going to be sick."  
  
"Well, the smell of Ophelia's perfume is enough to make anyone feel that way. As long as you don't throw up ON Robert, you'll be fine."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"He's probably secretly lusting after you from afar anyway," Jessica continued.  
  
"Oh, sure."  
  
"I bet he is."  
  
"I bet he isn't."  
  
"I'm telling you he is."  
  
"And I'm assuring you that he is not."  
  
Ophelia coughed.  
  
"Ah, guys? Ball?"  
  
"Oh, right."  
  
All three girls pulled their masks over their eyes, and looked at one another.  
  
"Don't worry, Hannah," Jessica said confidently, "Who knows what'll happen tonight?" 


	5. Masquerade Madness

A/N: Thanks to Rosethorn for reviewing too. I realise there's quite a bit of dialogue in this one too, but more descriptions to come, I promise! Thanks again. :)  
  
*****  
  
It was very rare that the students went anywhere near Harrigon's ballroom. Not because it was forbidden to do so. It wasn't. It was just that, seeing as how balls were few and far between, the room was often rented out to the residents of the nearby village for various activities. Harrigon was a large school, a contained community. The students had plenty to occupy their leisure time on campus, and didn't often venture into the village. Therefore, it wasn't until they had started taking morning walks past the ballroom that they even REALISED that a good portion of the villagers liked to live their lives...au natural.  
  
Tonight, however, everyone present was dressed for the occasion...well. Dressed, full stop. The room itself was no exception. The decorating committee and the art teacher had gone all out, transforming the rectangular space from classic elegance to Cupid Overload. Red and pink satin streamers lined the ceilings, heart-shaped balloons floated around – vainly attempting to dodge the grasping hands of the school's more immature patrons – and the buffet tables staggered under the weight of magenta coloured food ("Gross! They even dyed the mystery meat red!" "Maybe it's just rare?" "Uh, I don't think so. We have it every night, duh!"). The attendants of the dance were required – forced, actually, because all other entrances had been blocked off – to enter the room underneath a giant golden archway, formed by the touching arrows of two enormous gaudy Cupid figures.  
  
It was very atmospheric.  
  
It was very romantic.  
  
It was extremely –  
  
"Revolting," Ophelia uttered, looking around in distaste. Her nose and mouth wrinkled at once, and she looked – had she known it – astonishingly like her great-aunt Mary.  
  
Jessica opened her mouth, and then closed it. And then repeated the process over again. She was, for once, speechless.  
  
Hannah looked around in what Ophelia hoped was hysterical disgust, but suspected was bordering on girlish glee. She was right. Hannah actually clapped her hands together, and squealed.  
  
Ophelia glared at her.  
  
"You're a disgrace to - "  
  
"Womankind?" Jessica suggested, eyeing Hannah with incredulous horror.  
  
"People with sight."  
  
"Oh! But, it's so...so..."  
  
"Nauseating," From the other side of the room, Will managed to speak finally. His mouth had been hanging open from the moment he'd walked under that dratted ugly pair of Cupids.  
  
"Oh my...they've even cut the CDs into heart shapes," Jack said, blinking.  
  
"Will they even still work?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"So there'll be no music?"  
  
"I believe that giant red monstrosity over there is a karaoke stand."  
  
"Karaoke."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Reckon the Cupid Brothers' arrows are sharp enough to end our misery now?"  
  
"Probably worth a try."  
  
"You can do the world a favour later," Robert piped up absently, "You have to ask Hannah to dance first, remember?"  
  
"Oh," said Will flatly. "Still planning to declare your undying love to the short musician then. You know, I heard that one in every three rejections at a ball can lead to a crippling lack of self-esteem. And sex drive."  
  
"Your skull is about five seconds away from encountering a slab of mystery meat, Carlyle."  
  
*****  
  
"I can't!"  
  
Ophelia and Jessica exchanged glances with each other and then looked back at Hannah.  
  
"Hannah," Ophelia said sweetly.  
  
"I CAN'T!"  
  
"If you don't get your butt over there right now, and ask Robert Brent to dance, I'm showing everyone the picture."  
  
"What picture?" Jessica asked, in cheerful confusion.  
  
"The picture from first year."  
  
"Oh, THE picture."  
  
Brief pause.  
  
"Well...I can't see him anyway."  
  
"He's right over there, talking to Jack. There. In the really obvious masks. And now they're looking at us. Wave, Hannah! Smile! Hannah! Get out from behind that screen! Now look, Jack's looking at us. And Robert's looking at his shoes. Possibly he's finally noticed that they're on the wrong feet. And now Jack's walking away and Robert's by himself! Perfect opportunity! Go!"  
  
"Ohhhhhhhhh, I feel faint. I see stars. I see the light!"  
  
"I see a photo of you streaking across the football fi - "  
  
Ophelia's voice trailed off, and she and Jessica smiled as Hannah hurried across the room to Robert's side.  
  
"Great," said Jessica, "I predict they'll be married in a year."  
  
*****  
  
Robert shuffled his feet nervously and looked around. Jack had gone off to one side of the room, ostensibly so he could casually approach Hannah, who was on the OTHER side of the room, and ask her to dance without it looking like a set-up.  
  
Except she wasn't on the other side of the room.  
  
He looked around frantically, but couldn't see her. Ophelia and who he thought was Jessica Montgomery now stood alone, looking Casual and Inconspicuous. Ophelia was scratching her nose (well the nose area on her mask, actually) and Jessica was examining her fingernails. Robert gave them a quizzical glance, and then spun around in consternation, and stepped squarely on Hannah's foot.  
  
Hannah pressed her lips together as the right shoe on Robert's left foot landed on her own – already uncomfortable – new heels. She tried to play it cool. No need to make him feel bad. It was an accident.  
  
"OWWWWWWWW!"  
  
"Sorry!" Robert looked mortified.  
  
"Er...that's ok. It didn't hurt."  
  
There was an awkward silence. Both of them were suddenly grateful that their masks covered their burning cheeks and ears.  
  
"So. Uh..."  
  
"Yes, Hannah? I mean, um. Yes, mysterious stranger?"  
  
There was another awkward silence.  
  
"Remember the picture," Robert thought he heard Hannah muttering under her breath, but he didn't understand that and she couldn't quite seem to manage anything else.  
  
Right. Time to be manly.  
  
"Would you..."  
  
The words stuck. They just halted in his throat, and he looked around again, even more desperately this time. Where was Jack?! This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He couldn't ask her to dance himself. His mouth was dry. His palms were sweating. He was wearing his shoes on the wrong feet for goodness sakes! (How the hell that had happened, he'd work out later.)  
  
"Please excuse me? I have to...um...go...stand over there."  
  
Mentally punching himself in the nose, Robert rushed off.  
  
Hannah blinked.  
  
She told herself it wasn't her.  
  
She told herself not to cry.  
  
She turned around and faced her cousin and friend, who were looking from her to Robert's quickly departing back in confusion.  
  
And she glared.  
  
*****  
  
Peter and Mouse stood, cleverly (if they did say so themselves) concealed behind a large heart-shaped topiary bush. They had previously been cleverly concealed behind the karaoke stand, until the English teacher, Harris? Havers?, had wrestled her way onto it five long and excruciating songs earlier.  
  
They watched as Jack slowly weaved his way around the room, edging closer to a rather miffed looking Hannah Jones (at least, her hands were planted firmly on her hips and she was exuding a pissed off vibe).  
  
"You'd think these prats would at least splash out on full-sized masks," Peter muttered, "It's freakin' easy to tell who everyone is. So much for the element of mystery."  
  
"I did," said Mouse proudly.  
  
Peter turned and looked at him.  
  
Mouse's mask was pointed and exquisitely carved into shape. And very rodent- like in appearance.  
  
"Oh," said Peter pleasantly, "Are you wearing a mask?"  
  
Mouse was instantly confused.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Never mind, look, brother dear's dancing with the short girl. Time to track down the kiss-ass."  
  
Peter eased his way through the throng of masked students and teachers on the dance floor (most of them seemed to either be doing a strange head- bobbing movement that he'd never seen before, or they were trying to cover their ears against the cacophony coming from the stage), Mouse stumbling and bumping into every second person in his wake.  
  
They slithered past the dancing Jack and Hannah, and Peter tried not to accidentally kick his brother in the groin.  
  
"Are you serious? He really...he really likes me?"  
  
"Totally. But he's way too shy to tell you."  
  
"Robert? Shy?"  
  
"Like I said. He really likes you."  
  
Peter rubbed a hand over his churning stomach and made a face behind his black hawk mask. His was one of the few that actually covered his entire head, and he stooped a little lower to try and appear shorter.  
  
He wound his way over to stand by Robert, who was doing a terrible job of trying not to look over at the dancers.  
  
Jerking his head, widening his eyes, crooking his finger and finally slapping Mouse around the head and yanking him to stand next to him, Peter opened his mouth and said in carrying tones:  
  
"I can't believe it. Looks like Jack-boy's actually going to make his move. I never thought he'd do it."  
  
He altered the pitch of his voice, until it sounded curiously universal and unidentifiable. He was immensely proud of his talent in that direction.  
  
Mouse rubbed his chin, and then gave a muffled screech and rubbed his shin where Peter kicked him.  
  
"Well, he did say he was going to ask her out tonight," he managed, rather too loudly and obviously, but still looking very impressed with himself.  
  
"Yeah, but you know he felt bad, because Robert likes her too, but I guess that wasn't going to stop him. All's fair in love and war, he said, and Robert didn't really deserve her anyway, sweet angel that she is, he said." Peter almost choked over that one, but just managed to keep his dinner down.  
  
Glancing at Robert's frozen stance, he smothered a grin, and transferred his gaze back to the dance floor.  
  
"Yep, and apparently she loves him too, so it'll all work out well, I guess. Shame about Robert though. He doesn't seem like such a bad bloke. Quite liked him in first year, myself."  
  
Guessing that Mouse was about to pipe up with something along the lines of "But, Peter, you weren't HERE in first year", Peter mustered up his most withering stare.  
  
"THROWING OFF THE SCENT," he hissed, just loud enough for Mouse to hear.  
  
While his unfortunate friend was trying to work that one out, Peter hammered in the last nail.  
  
"He's been in love with her for years. Practically everyone knows that. Most people don't know whether to be happy for them, possibly finally getting together, or sorry for poor Robert."  
  
With a last look at Robert's stony countenance, Peter smirked and moved off, dragging Mouse with him.  
  
Well. That was as easy as his mother had been.  
  
*****  
  
Ophelia sighed, excused herself from the tall boy she had been dancing with – or trying to. For the love of thespians, when would Havers get the heck off that stage! Grabbing a red olive from the table, she popped it into her mouth, and, sighing, looked around.  
  
Hannah was dancing with Jack still. They were deep in conversation. At least she looked happier now. Ophelia still didn't understand what had happened with that nit, Robert, before. Surely the twat hadn't said NO? If he had, his balls were heading for a meeting with her foot.  
  
Swinging her gaze to the right, she encountered a wide-shouldered figure in a black mask, and felt inexplicably irritated. Then she realised. Oh. WILL.  
  
Scooping up another olive, she straightened her own mask and sidled over. She was bored. Might as well torment Will for awhile.  
  
She leapt in front of him dramatically.  
  
He just stared at her. Clearly he'd seen her coming. Oh, well.  
  
Ugh. Ophelia. Will looked at the tall girl in front of him. Curly tendrils of wild hair sprouted from behind her mask in wanton abandonment. Her shapely calves and feet beneath her little black dress were strapped into lethal looking stilettos.  
  
She looked annoying, not sexy. Irritating. Yes. Irritating.  
  
Will stroked a hand over his mask, confident that she didn't recognize him. He really was excellently outfitted tonight.  
  
"Hello," said Ophelia, deceptively sweet.  
  
"Hello there," Will deepened his voice as low as it would go.  
  
Pause.  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"Er – I said hello," he said in his normal tones.  
  
"And who might you be?" Ophelia winked flirtatiously and tried not to throw up.  
  
Will inwardly snickered. No idea who he was. Tee hee.  
  
"You can call me...Handsome. Very Handsome."  
  
Oh. My. God.  
  
If she didn't die of laughing right now, Jessica and Hannah would later.  
  
Struggling to keep a straight face, Ophelia managed a very respectable brainless giggle.  
  
"And who might you be?" Will's voice slipped down a couple of octaves again.  
  
Ophelia tried not to roll her eyes.  
  
"Jones. Ophelia Jones."  
  
"Oh!" Will faked a startled exclamation.  
  
"What?" Ophelia asked, her eyes narrowing.  
  
"Nothing. It's just...nothing."  
  
"What?" she repeated, a shade more menacingly.  
  
"It's just...I'm a little surprised to see you up."  
  
"Up?" Ophelia asked, a shade puzzled and very suspicious, "Like out of bed? It's only ten o' clock."  
  
"No. But...well, I heard that by this time, if you weren't dancing on a table, you could usually be found passed out behind one. No offense."  
  
Brief, dangerous silence.  
  
"And who told you that?" Ophelia asked, with suspect calm.  
  
"Oh, I don't remember. I thought it was common knowledge. Oops! I'm sorry. That came out wrong."  
  
"I bet it was Will Carlyle," Ophelia tested, watching him carefully.  
  
Will scratched his head, and then cocked it.  
  
"Will Carlyle? It sounds familiar, but I just can't place him. Who is this Will Carlyle?"  
  
Ophelia smiled behind her mask in a distinctly cat-like arch way.  
  
"Oh! I'm sure you've heard of him? You've probably at least laughed at him."  
  
"A witty fellow, is he?"  
  
"Sadly, no. Just clumsy and a tad unfortunate to look at. People can be so cruel, can't they?"  
  
"I don't think we can be talking about the same Will Carlyle. The man I was thinking of is..."  
  
"Oh no, we can't be," Ophelia interrupted, "This one isn't a MAN. In fact, I have my doubts that he's even human. Surely you know who I mean! He's always making little attempts at jokes, but laughs by himself. He's awfully boring and frightfully mean, and a complete suck up - "  
  
"SUCK UP! Er, I mean..."  
  
"Oh yes. Terribly. He's Jack Harrington's lap dog, always hanging onto his socks and trailing around after him. I think he pays Jack to let him hang out with him."  
  
It was amazing how Will's black mask could go from slightly suave to almost comically affronted looking in a matter of minutes.  
  
"Well. When I come across him, I'll be sure to tell him what you've said!"  
  
"Oh please do. He'll no doubt try a few insults back about me, no one will pay any attention to him, and a lot of food will be saved when he goes into a sulk and refuses to eat his dinner. Have a good night! Ta ta!"  
  
And with that, Ophelia danced off, leaving an exceedingly peeved Handsome behind her. 


	6. Twirl That Moustache

A/N: Thanks to Uberkaiserin for sticking with me! :) I really appreciate that you've kept reading it.  
  
*****  
  
LAP DOG!  
  
Will was outraged. He was offended. He was furious. He was disgruntled. He was...standing there with his mouth open. He shut it quickly, but continued to fume.  
  
How dare she?! Stand there so glibly and sexily...er...stand there so glibly and reel off such foul, untrue, insulting, horrible...!  
  
Will glared impotently at the space where she'd been. Where she was now, he didn't know. And didn't care! She was probably off trying to slice other manly egos in half with her bitter shrewish tongue. Trying being the operative word here. Because she hadn't succeeded with him! Oh no! He was merely...concerned by her lack of manners. He hadn't taken any personal affront or anything.  
  
Bitch.  
  
He jumped out of his seething reverie when someone grabbed his arm. He paused and quickly glanced down. Unless the hand on his arm was attached to Ophelia's kneeling supplicant figure, on the ground begging for forgiveness, he wasn't interested.  
  
"We're leaving," said a stiff, cold voice.  
  
Will blinked at Robert in surprise. He hadn't expected to see him all night. He thought he'd be off waltzing in the moonlight, or looking at the stars, or making daisy chains or something with Hannah by now.  
  
Funny. He didn't look like a man happily wallowing in the pits of requited lust. He looked...mad as hell.  
  
Will immediately felt a brotherly connection with him again.  
  
"Women!" he felt obliged to utter, in tones of complete loathing and disgust.  
  
Robert ignored this and towed him with unrelenting determination towards the door.  
  
Will watched as his friend aimed a vicious kick at one of the archway Cupids as they passed beneath them.  
  
It sailed backwards, knocking over two chairs and a small table, and pulling out the plug that was generating power to the karaoke machine.  
  
Blissful, blissful quiet resumed.  
  
And that was the first good thing that had happened all night.  
  
Havers looked about as miffed as he felt now, Will noticed idly. She'd been cut off mid-chorus of "My Heart Will Go On." At least her singing wouldn't.  
  
Robert came to a halt suddenly, and stuck his face in Will's. It was a mottled, rather unattractive, red and Will could barely hear what he was saying through his clenched, grinding teeth.  
  
"Do you know what that back-stabbing bastard's done?" he hissed.  
  
"It can't be nearly as bad as what Ophelia said to me!" Will shot back. "Do you know what she called me? Jack's lap dog, she said. LAP DOG! You should have seen her, all smug and irritating. And she didn't know it was me! That's worse! Do you think she actually thinks those things about me? Not that I care, of course," he continued hastily, "but..."  
  
"Shut up, Will," Robert snapped, "I don't care about your Ophelia angst right now. I've been BETRAYED."  
  
"Betrayed," Will said loudly, "Yes, exactly. That's it exactly. Thank you, Robert. I mean, it's one thing to participate in healthy debate with me, and express her hatred of me TO ME, but she thought she was telling some other guy. Blabbing about me being Jack's lap dog to SOME OTHER STRANGE GUY. I can't get over this. And it's a lie! A lie! It's only her bitter bitchy personality that BLINDS her to the handsome, likable specimen that I really am. Not that I want her to LIKE me, of course, because I don't like her. In fact, I positively detest her. And I will get her back for this, just you watch! Nasty cow."  
  
He seemed to have finished, and Robert, his face now an alarming shade of mauve, spat: "Will, will you shut the fuck up!"  
  
Will jumped, and stared crossly at his friend.  
  
"What the hell's wrong with YOU? Why aren't you off with whats-her-name anyway, frolicking amongst the lilacs or doing whatever revolting things people in love are supposed to do? Jack must've talked to her by now."  
  
He was slightly alarmed by the look that came over Robert's face.  
  
"Yes. JACK," his friend uttered, in tones that Will had never heard him use before.  
  
"Yes. Jack," Will repeated, confused, "Isn't he with Hannah?"  
  
"Not yet," Robert said bitterly, "But I'm sure he will be soon."  
  
"What?"  
  
Extreme confusion now.  
  
And extreme irritation as, looking through the ballroom doorway, he caught a flash of dramatic mask and mahogany curls.  
  
Mask. This whole damn masquerade thing was a crap idea, and he never wanted to see another mask again in his life. He didn't care if it wasn't time for the official midnight revelation yet; he was taking his off.  
  
"And then," Robert was saying, "they said that they felt sorry for me. SORRY for me, because everyone knows that I thought I was in love with her and..."  
  
"I'm going to reveal myself," announced Will.  
  
"They said everyone knows! And...excuse me?" Robert spluttered blinking. "Will! What the hell! There're GIRLS about! There are people with EYES about!"  
  
"Wh – oh! No! I meant I'm going to take my mask off!"  
  
"Oh. Well, great. Who cares? Were you even listening to me?" he bit out.  
  
"Yes, of course I was," muttered Will absently.  
  
Robert opened his mouth, but Will interrupted him hurriedly.  
  
"Oh look!" he said, pointing, "Here comes Hannah. And Jack."  
  
Robert stiffened beside him, took a step away, and then froze, head going up and eyes narrowing.  
  
"Robert!" Jack called, grinning broadly, his hand resting gently on Hannah's back, "There you are! Not sneaking off, I hope?"  
  
Robert looked at him coldly.  
  
"Sneaking off implies a weasel-y slimy nature, don't you think, Jack?"  
  
"Uh," Jack paused, both his smile – and Hannah's shy one – fading. "I guess so...what's going on, Robert?"  
  
"I have nothing to say to you," Robert said simply, turning around and starting to walk away.  
  
"Robert..." Hannah began, frowning and glaring at Jack. If he'd been joking about Robert's feelings for her, she was going to...!  
  
Robert swung back, and barked out a bitter laugh.  
  
"And I definitely have nothing to say to YOU!"  
  
Hannah actually reared back a little, horrified by his venom. What the heck was going on here?  
  
"Robert!" Jack snapped, "What the heck is going on here?"  
  
Robert's eyes were still fastened on Hannah.  
  
"Oh dear!" he said, with mock concern, "I suppose you heard that little rumour that I like you. These situations are always so awkward, aren't they?"  
  
Hannah's cheeks flushed red. She opened her mouth, but couldn't find any words.  
  
Robert looked from her to Jack, smiling mockingly.  
  
"I hope you two will be very happy together," he said insincerely, "You certainly deserve each other."  
  
And with that, he strode down the hall and slammed a door with furious vigor.  
  
He wasn't actually USING the door, but nothing conveys anger more effectively than a vigorously slammed door.  
  
The shocked trio left behind winced as one at the loud noise and turned to look at each other.  
  
Hannah had never been so angry in her life.  
  
Jack, looking at Hannah's countenance, had never been so afraid in his life.  
  
Or confused. He WAS going to get to the bottom of this. Will would know what was going on, for sure.  
  
"And you can tell your COUSIN that I am NOT a dog! If anyone's barking around here, it's her! Barking mad! Ha! Tell her to put that in her spiteful little pipe and smoke it!"  
  
Or maybe not.  
  
*****  
  
"Robert! Open this damned door!" Will snapped, hammering on it again. He'd followed his friend to his room, determined to get his head around what had just happened. Despite the fact that Ophelia was telling all and sundry that he was the world's biggest fool, he didn't like feeling this much out of the loop.  
  
There was a pause, and then Robert's voice came back suspiciously.  
  
"Are you alone?"  
  
Will rolled his eyes.  
  
"No, I've got the whole freaking girls' soccer team out here with me! Of course I'm alone! Now let me in, you stupid git!"  
  
The door was pulled reluctantly open, and Robert stepped back to allow him entry, casting quick glances up and down the hall.  
  
"Ok, Bond," said Will witheringly, "Enough with the spy tactics. Explain."  
  
"What?" Robert muttered peevishly.  
  
He slumped back down on the floor, mulishly shoving a hand through his hair.  
  
Will raised his eyebrows at his sulking figure. From what he'd heard from Robert's incoherent ramblings earlier – it was SO irritating how Robert somehow always resorted to mumbling whenever Will was preoccupied about Ophelia's evilness – his friend somehow thought that Jack and Hannah were a couple.  
  
It sounded ridiculous even in his head.  
  
"You think Jack and Hannah are a couple?" he tested, warily.  
  
"They are. And I don't care. He can have her. He gets everything he wants, doesn't he?" Robert said, bitterly.  
  
"Does he?" Will shook his head to try and clear it. "Robert, this doesn't even make any sense! Why would you think that they're together?"  
  
"Because they said!"  
  
"Who said?"  
  
"The people!"  
  
"What people?"  
  
"It doesn't matter anyway. All women are the same."  
  
"God, I hope not," Will said, shuddering, his mind on one in particular again.  
  
"Of course she's always liked Jack! I don't know why I didn't see it before. I mean, he's exactly her type - "  
  
"I don't see how he's at ALL her type," Will interrupted.  
  
"Hello? He's tall."  
  
"And she's short."  
  
"Yes! Opposites attracting and all that."  
  
"I'm tall," Will pointed out.  
  
"What are you saying?" Robert sat up and looked at him dangerously. "That you like Hannah too? So-called friends! So help me, Will, if you go near her..."  
  
"You'll what?" Will asked perversely.  
  
"I'll...well, I won't do anything, will I?" Robert retreated into moping self- pity and collapsed backwards, purposely letting his head hit the floor. "She's Jack's responsibility now, isn't she? Poor devil."  
  
"Just because he's tall and she's short, it doesn't mean that they're destined to produce lots of medium-sized babies, Robert!"  
  
"He's her type in looks!"  
  
"Jack had blond hair and blue eyes. You have blond hair and blue eyes. You're going to have to clarify this for me."  
  
"Ophelia once told Jack that Hannah used to have a huge crush on Macgyver. Hello?!"  
  
Mentally baring his teeth at the mention of That Creature's name, Will blinked.  
  
"Macgyver?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And what does this have to do with Jack?"  
  
"She probably started liking him last year, when he had that mullet. Macgyver's twin brother."  
  
Will sat down in Robert's armchair and thoughtfully tugged at his own hair.  
  
"You mean when he let it grow sort of long?"  
  
"Dude. Let's call a spade a spade. It was a mullet."  
  
It was also going to be a long night. Will listened as Robert started pointing out that Hannah and Jack shared musical interests (Hannah played in a band; in first year, Jack had played the national anthem in his armpit).  
  
Will leaned back into his cushions, and wondered how difficult it would be to smother himself with one of them.  
  
*****  
  
In his own room, Peter ripped his mask off, flung it aside and collapsed on his bed, grinning widely.  
  
He propped a cigarette between his teeth and wished, not for the first time, that he could grow a moustache.  
  
There were certain occasions when a nice evil twirl of a moustache was the only suitable action. He decided to pretend that he did have one.  
  
It was only the sound of a snickering first year that caused him to belatedly remember to shut the door. 


	7. Crackers

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, and I don't like it at all. Hopefully I'll do better on the next one! :)

....................................

Will flopped lower in Robert's armchair, propped his chin on his hand and tried not to roll his eyes. His friend was pacing the room and delivering an extremely impassioned speech about betrayal and disloyalty. Where the hell Jack had got to, Will wasn't sure, but he was beginning to feel just a tad annoyed. He had no idea what had gone wrong downstairs, and every time he tried to get a logical answer out of Robert, he got the same reply: "Jack's a bastard."  
  
Which was all well and good, but it didn't clear things up much. He was officially confused. Will didn't like feeling confused.  
  
"Robert!" Jack's voice sounded firmly through the door. He sounded a tad annoyed too.  
  
"Piss off, Jack!" Robert screeched into full volume outrage.  
  
Will smothered a groan and tried to surreptitiously cover his ears with his hands.  
  
"Let me in, Robert! Right now!" Jack wasn't exactly whispering himself.  
  
"Like hell I will! Shouldn't you be off with your new girlfriend? I'm never going to let you in, so you might as well just..."  
  
Robert's voice trailed off as Jack calmly pushed the door open. He blinked, before turning around to glare at Will.  
  
"Will! I told you to lock the door, you prick!"  
  
Will thought for a second, and then really had to speak up in his own defense.  
  
"Actually, no," he said slowly, "You didn't. I think you started to, but then you made that kind of sobbing noise and it was really hard to tell what you were saying. I THOUGHT you said lock the DORK, but that didn't make sense and then..."  
  
"I wasn't SOBBING!" Robert snapped indignantly. "I was choking! That's right! Choking on BETRAYAL!" he shouted dramatically at Jack.  
  
Will faked a cough himself, to cover his groan. He knew that Robert was genuinely hurt and upset, but he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed this...drama queen streak in him before. He'd be a brilliant soap opera actor.  
  
Jack looked less than impressed with Robert's hysterics.  
  
"Shut up, Robert."  
  
"Well, I like that! I..."  
  
"SHUT UP, Robert."  
  
In an evening of astonishing, befuddling and bewildering events, the most amazing of all was that Robert actually did shut up.  
  
He crossed his arms, flung back his head and proceeded to make a few gargling noises, presumably of contempt and derision, but at least he finally – finally – stopped talking.  
  
Jack waited a few moments. "Right," he said, "Right."  
  
Pause.  
  
"What the hell was that?"  
  
"What?" Robert snapped back.  
  
Now that the constant barrage of wounded complaints had ceased, he seemed perfectly happy to wallow in monosyllabic displeasure. Jack raised his eyebrow in what Will had often thought was a very Head Boy-ish way.  
  
"Uh, ok. Downstairs. Ball. You. Asshole. Hannah. Confused. Hurt. Explain."  
  
Robert sneered.  
  
Jack waited.  
  
Will laughed.  
  
Two heads swiveled to look at him.  
  
"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly, "Nervous reaction. I do that. Sorry. Continue."  
  
"What is there to explain?" Robert asked coldly, "You knew I was in love with Hannah. You failed to mention, however, that you also are in love with Hannah. You were supposed to ask her out for me. And you asked her out for yourself. I think I have it pretty clear, thank you. You're a backstabbing, selfish, CRAP friend."  
  
"What?!" Jack blurted, "Robert, what the hell? I'm not in love with Hannah! I like her, sure, but as a friend. A friend. And I DID ask her out for you. I babbled on and ON about how terrific you are, how nice, what a great friend, and how bloody in love with her you are! And then you acted like a complete twat!"  
  
"Jack, I HEARD two guys talking about it. They said you were in love with her, and that all's fair in love and war - "  
  
"What? Look, mate, I don't know what you heard, ok, but either it was about someone else, or they were taking the piss. I don't know, Robert, but BELIEVE me, I don't love Hannah, I have never loved Hannah and I never will love Hannah - "  
  
"Why?" Robert interrupted defensively, "What's wrong with her?"  
  
Another pause.  
  
"Argh!"  
  
Jack gripped his hair in frustration.  
  
Robert sniffed disbelievingly. Then he thought for a second. He bit his lip. He rubbed his nose. Finally, he gave in and believed.  
  
"You really did ask her out for me?"  
  
"I really did."  
  
"What...what did she say?"  
  
"I'm pretty sure she would have said yes."  
  
"And you really don't love her? She doesn't love you?"  
  
"No, I got the feeling from her nauseatingly enthusiastic response that she was rather hung up on YOU."  
  
Robert tried not to beam. He failed. All of his previous antagonism had vanished.  
  
"Well. Well, then I'm sorry...Really? She likes me back?" he asked, with childish eagerness.  
  
"I said WAS," Jack informed him archly, "After the way you treated her downstairs, I wouldn't be surprised if she's off sticking pins in a little Robert doll."  
  
Robert's face fell.  
  
"Oh, shit."  


...................................  
  
"I'm going to kill him."  
  
A night in which Ophelia and Jessica had shared Hannah's sleeplessness – mostly because she'd uttered those same five words every few minutes with increasing volume – and numerous cups of coffee had done nothing to lessen the homicidal vibes in the room.  
  
"Yeah, well you're going to have to get in line behind me," Ophelia agreed around a yawn, rubbing her eyes sleepily.  
  
"It's kind of weird though, don't you think?" Jessica's voice came from inside a pile of duvets on the floor.  
  
"What, that I ever even considered liking Robert?" Hannah snapped, "Yes, it is. It's more than weird. It's completely bizarre. I must have been having a brain malfunction."  
  
Ophelia reached for Hannah's hair brush, and grimaced as she tried to tug it through her tangled curls.  
  
"What's weird, Jess?" she asked, stretching her legs out with a satisfied sigh.  
  
Jessica sat up and began to unbraid her own hair. "You said that Robert seemed to think you and Jack were a couple. What's with that?"  
  
Hannah snorted.  
  
"I don't know. Some figment of his twisted little imagination. Tiny brained prat. What are you looking for?" she asked her cousin in irritation.  
  
Ophelia pulled her head out from under the bed.  
  
"I'm sure I left some crackers in here somewhere."  
  
"How can you be hungry at a time like this?" Hannah wailed.  
  
It seemed that Ophelia wasn't the only melodramatic member of the Jones family.  
  
"I'm always hungry," she answered pragmatically, "Especially in times of crisis."  
  
Jessica nodded sagely. "That's true. Remember when Davey dumped her last year? The school had to double its food order."  
  
Ophelia shrugged. "Look who's talking. I SAW the size of that ice cream sundae you were eating the other day. At least I assume it was you. All I saw was whipped cream and a blonde ponytail."  
  
"Hey! That was for medical reasons," Jessica informed her smugly. "Apparently my metabolism is actually too efficient or something, so the nurse told me that I should be eating more high calorie foods. And who am I to turn down professional advice, right? If I have to eat truckloads of ice cream to keep Nurse Cox happy, then I'll just have to make that sacrifice."  
  
Ophelia paused in her search of Hannah's desk, and stared at Jessica.  
  
"Your life annoys me."  
  
Jessica grinned, undaunted.  
  
"What am I going to do?" Hannah asked, dropping her head into her hands. "Everyone's going to know that I like him and he totally rejected me."  
  
Ophelia opened her mouth to further express her opinion of Robert Brent and the vileness of evil men, when she was cut off by a knock on the door.  
  
All three girls looked at each other, and waited for someone else to open it.  
  
"It's your room," Jessica pointed out to Hannah.  
  
"I'm upset!" Hannah protested. "I've been through an ordeal!"  
  
"Well, I can't get up. Sorry."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"My foot is stuck in the duvet."  
  
Ophelia sighed and flounced over to the door.  
  
"I'll get it. Yeesh."  
  
She pulled it open, and blinked.  
  
Robert Brent, Jack Harrington and – horrors – William Carlyle stood there, looking, respectively, sheepish, awkward and cross.  
  
Ophelia folded her arms and glared at the person she was most irritated to see. For the first time ever, it wasn't Will.  
  
"Yes, jerk?"  
  
Robert winced.  
  
"Ophelia. Hey. Uh. You look very pretty today."  
  
There was a brief silence, during which Jack screwed up his eyes and shook his head, Will's head snapped around to glare at Robert and Ophelia stared.  
  
"What?"  
  
Her voice almost dripped ice.  
  
Robert was just about cowering by now.  
  
"Um, no. I didn't mean that. I don't think you're pretty...uh! Uh. Can I talk to Hannah? Please?"  
  
Ophelia put her head on one side and considered, eyeing Robert as if he were a particularly disgusting laboratory specimen.  
  
"No."  
  
Robert opened and closed his mouth uselessly.  
  
"Is she there? I really need to talk to her. I'm sorry! Hannah, are you in there? I'm really sorry!"  
  
He tried to step into the room, but Jessica blocked his way.  
  
"Sorry? Sorry for what, exactly?"  
  
The three hapless males looked apprehensively from one staunch girl to the other.  
  
"Yes," Ophelia agreed, "Sorry for what, Robert? For embarrassing and hurting our best friend? For the fact that none of us have had any sleep because of you? Or maybe for that unusually horrible shade of orange you're wearing?"  
  
"It's puce!"  
  
"I don't care! Will you please go away! Hannah doesn't want to talk to you. And I need to look for my crackers."  
  
"Well, you are what you eat," said Will facetiously.  
  
"And don't even get me started on the company you keep!"  
  
"No! Look," Robert said, gathering his thoughts, "I really need to talk to Hannah, and I'm not leaving until I do."  
  
"What do you want, Robert?" Hannah asked quietly, appearing behind the other two girls.  
  
"Hannah," Robert audibly exhaled and involuntarily reached for her, before fisting his hands at his sides.  
  
"Yes?" she gazed at him coolly.  
  
Ophelia and Jessica formed rank on either side of her defensively.  
  
"Hannah. I'm so sorry. I really am. I acted like a complete prick..."  
  
"No arguments here."  
  
"Yes, well, I know. But I was jealous, and stupid, and dumb, and a prat. I overheard people talking...lying...and I'm sorry I believed them. I never wanted to hurt you or embarrass you."  
  
He looked at her beseechingly.  
  
"Just tell me what I have to do to get you to forgive me. I'll do anything."  
  
"Oh, please," Ophelia said scornfully, "She's not going to forgive you. Why should she?"  
  
"Because I love her!"  
  
It was hard to tell who was more shocked by this loud avowal of devotion.  
  
Judging by the fact that his face was alarmingly more colourful than his - truly ghastly - shirt by this stage, Ophelia thought maybe Robert.  
  
Will rolled his eyes and tried not to look nauseous. He had a horrible feeling that things were about to get sentimental.  
  
"What?" Hannah asked faintly.  
  
"Er."  
  
"You...love me?"  
  
Robert bit his thumb nail and blinked at her anxiously.  
  
"Um, yes?"  
  
It was more questioning than affirming, but his uncertain tone didn't seem to bother Hannah.  
  
She launched herself into Robert's arms, almost knocking him over.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Totally."  
  
"What?" Ophelia squawked. "Hannah! You can't just forgive him! He didn't trust you at all! He turned on you at the first..."  
  
She gave up when she realized that Hannah hadn't heard a word. She was otherwise occupied.  
  
The four people not snogging as if their lives depended on it tried not to stare, and instead settled for just feeling awkward.  
  
"So," said Jessica brightly.  
  
It sounded promising, and the others waited to hear what she had to say.  
  
That appeared to be it.  
  
"Uh, so did everyone have fun last night?" Jack asked brightly, and then cringed.  
  
Ophelia and Will immediately turned on each other.  
  
"So, I heard you had fun! Bitching about me behind my back to some guy!"  
  
"Oh, he told you? Yeah, that figures. He looked like the slimy gossiping type."  
  
Before the conversation could denigrate to four-letter insults, Jessica grabbed Ophelia's arm.  
  
"Uh, Fee, maybe we should give Hannah and Robert some privacy, huh?"  
  
Ophelia shot one last glare at Will, and then visibly tried to compose herself.  
  
"I suppose."  
  
She looked wryly at her cousin, and then nodded.  
  
"I told Jock that I'd help with cleaning the ballroom this morning anyway."  
  
Even Hannah and Robert broke briefly apart to look around quizzically at the strange sound that ensued from that comment.  
  
It sounded a lot like the grinding of furious teeth.  
  
Muttering something about 'kilt clad wimps' and 'cracker chomping wenches', Will stormed off, sparing a disparaging glance for the happy couple.  
  
Making very belittling comments about someone or something called 'Handsome', Ophelia stomped away in the opposite direction.  
  
Jessica and Jack exchanged a look of mutual exhaustion and exasperation.  
  
"Honestly," Jessica said. "Those two."  
  
"I know," Jack agreed, "How long do you reckon it'll be before they finally realise it?"  
  
"Well," she mused, "I've been telling myself they'll get together by the end of the day for the last three years."  
  
"Yeah. Don't you just wish there was some way to force them to admit it and get it over with?"  
  
Jessica nodded and rolled her eyes good-naturedly, studiously ignoring the extremely sappy and lovesick whispers coming from behind her.  
  
Then she paused.  
  
She looked at Jack.  
  
And she smiled, a slow, sly, scheming smile.  
  
"Actually..." 


	8. Dining Room Scheming

Jessica walked towards the dining room at Jack's side.  
  
"God, I'm starving," she moaned, rubbing her stomach pathetically. "Can you believe that this school only feeds us once a day? It's practically inhumane. Ooh! Maybe we should complain. I look good holding a picket."  
  
"Yeah, we get meals like six times a day, Jess," Jack said mildly, cocking a brow at her.  
  
"Huh. Well, it feels like once. It's possible that I spend too much time with Ophelia. Do you know how much you look like a Head Boy when you do that?"  
  
"I am a Head Boy."  
  
"Well, there's no need to brag about it."  
  
"I'm not bragging. You said that I looked like a Head Boy, I'm merely clarifying that I am..."  
  
"Anyway, the plan. Stop distracting me."  
  
"_ME_?"  
  
"There you go again, always talking about yourself. Honestly, Jack, we have a problem to sort out here. Actually two problems. Two taller than average, pain-in-the-ass, problems. What?"  
  
Jack was eyeing her narrowly.  
  
"You're right. You do spend too much time with Ophelia."  
  
He pushed open the imposing wooden door, and held it for her.  
  
_'I am SO gentlemanly.'_ He couldn't help silently congratulating himself.  
  
"Very gentlemanly," Jessica said approvingly.  
  
"You just read my mind."  
  
"Frightening. I'll try not to do it again."  
  
They spotted two heads close together on the other side of the room, and exchanged glances.  
  
"What do you think? Kissing or eating?"  
  
"Well. The people around them look pretty nauseous. But whether that's because Hannah and Robert are yet again publicly inhaling each other, or just because of the food, it's hard to say."  
  
Jack frowned.  
  
"Do you think they'll want to help out with this? Hannah doesn't really seem like the manipulative type to me, and Robert's brain is probably fried from snog overload."  
  
"Don't underestimate Hannah. The girl can be downright devious when she wants to, and she's got guts. We've got this one photo of her on the football fie..."  
  
Jack looked extremely interested.  
  
"Yes? Football fie...?"  
  
"Never mind. Besides, Hannah really wants Ophelia to be happy. She's nice that way. Me, well, sure, I want her to be happy too, but the constant moping and anti-Will propaganda is driving me up the wall."  
  
"Tell me about it. You wouldn't believe how much worse it's gotten since the ball."  
  
"Hard as it is to imagine, I really think those two would be happy if they were finally together. Or, at the very least, they can piss each other off instead of everybody else."  
  
Jack grinned and held out his hand. She shook it.  
  
"Ok, so we fill the love-birds in, and work this out. It shouldn't be hard, right? Ophelia and Will are so busy hating each other that they barely notice anything else that's going on around them, and we're intelligent people. Hannah's intelligent. Robert's intelligent. Surely between us we can work out the details of one little plan."  
  
They walked up behind the oblivious couple, who were in fact not snogging after all, but seemingly content to just gaze into each other's eyes in an extremely soppy fashion.  
  
Robert reached out and smoothed back a strand of Hannah's hair.  
  
"No, I so am not," he argued tenderly, smiling at her in a besotted way.  
  
"Yes, you are too," Hannah murmured back, in what sounded to Jessica to be dangerously approaching a coo.  
  
She opened her mouth to ask what they were arguing about, and was quickly glad that she hadn't.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Hannah. I am totally not prettier than you!"  
  
"You totally are!"  
  
Jack leaned over to whisper in Jessica's ear.  
  
"Uh, yeah, so maybe just between the two of us we try and work out a plan?"  
  
"Might be a good idea."  
  
"Hey, if you listen really, really closely, you can almost hear Will somewhere, throwing up."  
  
Amazingly, his quiet tone actually broke through the love bubble.  
  
"Hey guys!" Hannah said quickly, turning a little red.  
  
"You are so cute when you blush," Robert told her, smilingly brushing back a strand of her hair.  
  
Then he spotted Jack.  
  
"Uh, yeah," he said, blushing himself, and deepening his voice to an impossibly resonant baritone, "So. Sports. And manly things. And whatnot."  
  
Jessica rolled her eyes, and Hannah giggled.  
  
"So, what's up?"  
  
Jessica and Jack sat down across from the crimson pair, and shared a speaking glance.  
  
"It's about Ophelia and Will," Jessica said seriously.  
  
Hannah looked immediately worried.  
  
"Oh no, are they ok? Are they sick?"  
  
"No, we're sick. Of them."  
  
Hannah's mouth formed a silent _'Oh.'  
_  
Robert paused, and then nodded.  
  
"Yeah. Fair enough. All that fighting."  
  
"Yes," Jack agreed, nodding, "It's almost as bad as two grown people speaking baby talk. And whatnot."  
  
Robert shot him a sharp look.  
  
"So, what do you want to do about it?" Hannah asked, biting back a smile. "I assume you have some kind of plan?"  
  
"Pretty much," Jessica nodded. "Ok, the way we see it, Ophelia and Will constantly talk about how much they dislike each other, yes?"  
  
"Yes," chorused Hannah and Robert.  
  
"When obviously they are totally head over heels in lust and/or love, right?"  
  
"Right!" they agreed in unison.  
  
"Please stop doing that."  
  
"Sorry," they said at once.  
  
Jessica took a deep breath.  
  
"Ok. That's not annoying. _Anyway_, despite the fact that they claim to be mortal enemies, they both get upset at the thought the other really doesn't like them."  
  
"That's true," Hannah said slowly, remembering Ophelia's description of the altercation between herself and Will at the ball.  
  
"I think that if they believed that the other was in love with them- "  
  
"In other words, realized the blatantly obvious," Jack cut in.  
  
"Then they would admit their own feelings to themselves."  
  
"And hopefully to each other."  
  
Pause.  
  
"Ok," said Robert, "Sounds good. But how the hell do we get them to believe that the other is in love with them? We can't just tell them. They'll never believe it."  
  
Jessica shook her head.  
  
"That's exactly what we're going to do. Tell them. Only not to their faces."  
  
Seeing the other pair's confusion, Jack elaborated.  
  
"What we were thinking is this: you and I, Robert, let Will "overhear" a conversation where we discuss how Ophelia is helplessly in love with him. Which you know for a fact, because Hannah, her cousin and best friend, told you. In a sappy, lovesick, sharing moment."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"And basically vice versa for us, Hannah," Jessica said quickly.  
  
"Won't they see right through it?" Hannah asked doubtfully, tapping her finger against her chin.  
  
Jessica shrugged.  
  
"Possibly. But I doubt it. It's easy to believe in something if you want it badly enough."  
  
Jack bobbed his head in agreement, before reaching out to absently pluck a stray hair from Jessica's shirt.  
  
She blinked.  
  
"Yes. And that was attached to my head."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Hannah and Robert were staring at one another again.  
  
Just when Jessica thought that they'd drifted off into pink fuzzy land, Robert spoke up.  
  
"Ok, let's do it. It's worth a try anyway."  
  
Hannah agreed. "If it'll make Fee happy, I'll give anything a go."  
  
Robert touched her shoulder.  
  
"You're such a generous person."  
  
"Not as generous as you."  
  
Jack shut his eyes briefly. He was beginning to feel a whole new connection with Will and his firmly anti-romance stance.  
  
Jessica leaned in close to murmur to him.  
  
"You realise," she said softly, "That if all goes to plan, there's going to be two couples sitting here babbling mush?"  
  
Jack cast a disbelieving glance her way.  
  
"Oh, come on. You can't honestly think that Will...and Ophelia too, actually...would behave like that."  
  
He waved a distracted hand in Hannah and Robert's direction, trying to ignore what he suspected was impending snogging.  
  
Jessica grinned, although she too looked a little sick.  
  
"I guarantee that if we get them together, your cynical, love-hating pal will turn into a sonnet-bearing, serenading Romeo."  
  
Jack looked utterly revolted.  
  
"Good God," he forced out, "I'll have to change schools."  
  
"What, you at a school where you _aren't_ Head Boy?" Jessica gasped dramatically.

_Thwack_.

"Ow!"  
  
She rubbed her shin and glared at Jack.

................................

"Un-bloody-believable!" Peter burst out, not for the first time. "I can't believe that they got together."  
  
Mouse bounced up and down a little on the edge of Peter's unmade bed.  
  
"It's not that surprising, is it?" he asked guilelessly, "I mean, all they had to do was talk to each other. It wasn't really going to work in the long run."  
  
Peter ignored him, and stroked his chin thoughtfully.  
  
"If I have to look at those two sucking face for much longer, I'm going to throw up. Or maybe kill something." He looked rather pointedly at Mouse.  
  
"I don't know. I think it's kind of sweet," Mouse said, smiling hopefully.  
  
_"What?"  
_  
"What?"  
  
Peter rolled his eyes and gripped his hair in both hands dramatically, yanking hard to show his frustration. Ouch. He stopped and showed his frustration by kicking the hapless Mouse instead.  
  
Mouse rubbed his leg absently, and looked Peter up and down.  
  
He frowned.  
  
"Are you in mourning?" he asked curiously.  
  
Peter set his jaw.  
  
"I'm dressed in black because the bad guys always dress in black." _Duh_.  
  
"I don't know if that's true," Mouse mused thoughtfully. "In fact, I can think of several..."  
  
"And I'm the bad guy here, ok!" Peter screeched.  
  
"Ok."  
  
"I mean, who else here is as evil as me?"  
  
"Um."  
  
"That's right. No one. Now. My first plan might not have worked, but it did cause them some misery for awhile, and that's all good. And my new plan will break them up for good. And generally spread sadness. People will cry. And sulk. And create scenes. It'll be great."  
  
"Do you have a new plan?" Mouse asked curiously.  
  
Peter spluttered indignantly.  
  
"Of course I do! I always have schemes in mind."  
  
Mouse nodded, and then cocked his head.  
  
"You don't have a plan, do you?"  
  
"_I said I did, you little_...ok, no, I don't. But I will!"  
  
Mouse nodded.  
  
"I know."  
  
"And it'll be really evil!"  
  
"I believe you."  
  
"Well, good. Good then."  
  
Mouse considered Peter again.  
  
"You know, you do look kind of evil in those clothes."  
  
Peter preened.  
  
"And at least you didn't go so far as to wear dark glasses too. That would have just made you look stupid."  
  
"Glasses!" Peter scoffed. "Pah!"  
  
And pushed his dark glasses deeper into his pocket. 


End file.
